You're not my friends!
by SultrySphynx
Summary: What happened to Stan in the sewers? Is this what caused him to take his life as an adult? Trigger Warning- Graphic scenes of violence, emotional torment/psychological torment and implied suicide. Please do not read this if my story is going to cause you any upset, I do not want to upset my readers…


Stan struggled as the woman with the distorted face had him pinned to the ground, one of her arms had his paralyzed, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe and couldn't scream.

"They've left you Stanley, they've left you. They don't care about you, they don't love you. No one loves you. No one will notice you're gone but me, you'll float Stanley." It hissed at him before taking a painful bite out of his face, Stan screamed in pain and horror as he felt those horrible sharp teeth pierce his flesh.

"No…Please… Let me go." Stan begged, he was crying, he wasn't going to listen to the horrible creature, It was trying to manipulate him, mentally torture him as It begun to eat him.

Stan screamed in pain again as the teeth nibbled on the sensitive skin on his cheek, trying to hit at It but the creature was too strong and only dug Its fingers into his shoulders until they went numb.

The horrible twisted woman laughed, the laugh of Pennywise as It licked his blood and his tears from his face.

"You're all alone, no one is coming to save you." She whispered, biting him once more.

Stan had disassociated now, all he could think of was how this had happened, this summer was supposed to be fun with gaming, sleep overs and swimming. He had been abandoned, they didn't care, they left him to save Beverly. He cried as he remembered the good days before Georgie died when it was just the kind and thoughtful Bill, the anxious but lovable Eddie and that little shit Richie who he cared for as much as they clashed at times.

Now he thought of his father, how everything he did for him just wasn't enough. How his father would send him to his office with that disgusting painting that frightened him, was that to punish him? Did he know how much that painting scared him? Even now as the vile creature started to consume him Stan was broken, he felt unloved, no one was coming for him. No one was going to look for him, they were going to save the girl and leave him to die at the hands of a child murdering monster.

"Don't cry Stan, I will take care of you…" It crooned as it lapped at the blood that gathered at Stan's face, rewarded with a whimper from the frightened boy.

Stan tried to curl up and cry but the entity kept biting him relentlessly, it felt like paper cuts were being sliced deeper into an open wound. He remembered the time he was little, thinking he was going to be protected and loved, how wrong he was.

Screams of his friends alerted Stan to the fact he was no longer dying, his eyes snapped open and wide with fright as the demonic woman finally released him. She glided away from him and he curled into a frightened ball as It took the form of that evil clown causing his friends to scream in fear. His friends ran to him and he couldn't stop the traumatized screams that he omitted from his raw lungs.

"You left me to die! You're not my friends!" He screamed as they tried to comfort him, his post traumatic stress causing him to physically lash out as if he was still being hurt.

For the rest of the battle Stan was quiet, he stood back as his friends embraced each other.

The harm was already done. Stan was gone.

"Now I just want to go home

Carried by all that was ever known

Held in these hands if I must I will stand

Given these promises

Now i've been running too long

These feet are too tired to carry on"

The Butterfly Effect- Gone.

Stan was shaking after he received the phone call twenty seven years later, the evil clown was back and he had his life together and had spent the last twenty seven years picking up the pieces. Trying to build who he used to be, who he was meant to be.

The memories flooded back to Stan as he remembered the way his fiends had abandoned him in the sewers as they tried to find her, a girl. The sharp teeth of the flute lady who still haunted his dreams, the way It/she had taunted him as she ate him. The way he was petrified, alone and in pain and he thought no one was going to save him, that he would die an agonizing death and that no one would care….

He couldn't go on, that night Stan lost the battle to his demons and his fears that had haunted his memories, dreams and habits from all of those years.

I found this extremely upsetting to write, this writing was intended to be emotive and reflective.

Please do seek support if you ever have to battle demons and trauma alone, I do not advocate suicide, it is ok to cry and it is ok to ask for help…

If my writing has upset you, please do engage in some self care. 3


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